Numb3rs: Family Ties
by ttchaku
Summary: The Eppes brothers have been through thick and thin, but when the stakes change, will they be able to come through for each other?
1. Brother to Brother

**Numb3rs: Family Ties**

**Brother to Brother**

**Disclaimer: **I don't have anything to do with the creation or use of the wonderful TV show called Numb3rs.

**A/N: **This is my first Numb3rs story and I'd love any feedback I can get. All kinds of criticisms are welcome.

**Summary: **The Eppes brothers have been through thick and thin, but when the stakes change, will they be able to pull through for each other?

**C**harlie hastily scribbled down some complex equations dealing with probability and statistics in his worn spiral notepad as the black SUV took another sharp turn to the left. He jounced up in his seat, hitting the armrest jarringly with his writing hand creating a long slash across his work. Tensing, he turned and glared at his brother.

"Can't you be a little more careful?" he requested tersely, concentrating on his work.

His brother gave him a tight grin in return. "And I thought that nothing could disturb you from your math." he joked.

Charlie didn't answer him, too absorbed in his writings. He scrawled two more barely legible equations before painstakingly stopping and rechecking all of his data. He smoothed the creased paper with his right hand and squinted at the equations on the paper. Biting his lip, he traced his pencil lightly down series of numbers and tapped the final equation with his pencil.

"I've got it!" he suddenly said excitedly, "The most probable hiding spot according to these statistics would be at either Stockhard's Warehouse on eleventh street or Chester's Storehouse right outside Los Angeles."

"Are you sure?" Don asked, already jerking the SUV towards the freeway.

"Absolutely. These people like isolated warehouses with little to no security and they have to be either very close to or in the city. If you factor in the places they've already used, you can see a distinct pattern that-"

"Good work, Buddy," Don interrupted, "Hold on a second"-Don turned on his cell and dialed Terry's cell-"Terry, Charlie's narrowed the location of the kidnappers down to two places: Stockhard's or Chester's. I'm closer to Chester's, so you and David check out Stockhard's on eleventh…yes, of course I'll wait for backup before entering, just get over to Stockhard's and tell me when you've cleared the place."

Don clicked the cell off and turned back to Charlie. "I'll drop you off at a store or restaurant once we're in the city. Do you think you can get a cab from there?" Don asked, putting on the siren and speeding up.

Charlie shook his head. "Maybe, but it's best if I come with you. I might be able to collect more data that'll help pinpoint the location of the kidnappers. Remember, they have hostages; you won't be able to just waltz in unknowingly. They could start killing people!" Charlie said, furrowing his forehead.

"Charlie," Don sighed, "I know how to do my job."

Charlie fidgeted with the pencil in his hands, twirling it in his hands. "Yeah I know do you. No one's doubting that Don, but…" Charlie trailed off, biting his lip.

"I can't let you stay with me, Buddy." Don said sympathetically, but with finality, "Don't you remember what happened the last time you tried to collect some data?"

"Please Don," Charlie pleaded, "I'll stay in the car this time, and I won't cause any problems; I promise."

Don turned for a second to look at his younger brother contemplatively. He was staring earnestly at Don with beseeching eyes. "Dad'll kill me if you're hurt." he said calmly, staring at the endless stretch of road before him.

Charlie rolled his eyes, "I'm a grown man; you and dad have to stop treating me like a child, Don. Anyway, statistically, I have a better chance of-"

"I don't want to know." Don said dryly, "Just…promise to lock the doors and be quiet, alright."

"No problem, Don." Charlie said, "I'll do whatever you say…but I won't be much help to you if I'm stuck in here…"

"Charlie," Don said warningly, "You already promised me that you'd stay here."

"Right, Don. I know." Charlie said sighing.

Don screeched into a halt ten minutes later in front a dilapidated warehouse. It was a large building made with old war torn wood and creaking metal. The whole thing seemed like it was about to tip over with the next strong gust of wind.

"God, that thing is one huge fire hazard waiting to happen." Don remarked, slipping off his seatbelt and opening the door.

"No wait, Don!" Charlie quickly reached across the seat and grasped the sleeve of his shirt, "Aren't you supposed to wait for backup?"

"Relax Buddy." Don eased Charlie's tight grip off his shirt and unhooked his gun, "I'm just going to do some surveillance."

"Alone?" Charlie said incredulously.

"Don't worry. I'll be back in five minutes after scouting the exterior of the building. I won't take a step inside it." Don closed the door on Charlie's protests and locked it. Mouthing, "Don't move" he disappeared from view around the side of the decrepit warehouse.

Charlie curled back into seat, anxiously tapping his pencil along the edge of his seat. He peered out the driver side window hoping to see Don coming back around the bend. Instead, he was reduced to worriedly calculating the age of the structurally unsafe building by taking into account the look of the wood and metal.

After several minutes, Charlie sighed in frustration and turned his attention elsewhere. He unclasped his seatbelt and absentmindedly calculated how fast the belt wound back into the car per centimeter. When he had done that (one second per three centimeters), he resumed staring out the window, watching for Don, chancing only a few guilty glances at the car door lock. He smoothed his rumpled Oxfords distractedly; his fingers were itching to unlock the door and get out to do nothing more than stretch his legs and gather a little informative data, or so he told himself.

Mentally scolding himself, Charlie flexed his fingers and sifted upwards in his seat, which was growing increasingly uncomfortable with each passing second. Then, with a silent plop his pencil and notebook full of calculations slid off his lap and fell to the vinyl covering on the car floor. Sighing, Charlie reached down to scoop up the fallen papers when-

Don's phone rang. Charlie jumped and he hit his head hard on the dashboard. Softly cursing his nerves, he scrambled upwards and tensely fumbled with Don's cell phone, which he had left in case the telltale sound gave him away. Turning it on, he stilled his quivering hands (just jitters because the call surprised me, he told himself), and pressed the phone to his ear.

Almost immediately, Terry's warm, static filled voice burst through the speakers and into his ear. Charlie nearly sighed in relief; it wasn't that he had been expecting something bad, but at least now, he was sure.

"Don, this warehouse was a bust. It's all clear here. Stand by; Sinclair and I will be there in twenty minutes…Don? Don, are you there?"

Charlie finally found his voice. "Terry!"

"Charlie?" Terry sounded confused, "Where's Don; why do you have his cell?"

"He didn't have time to drop me off somewhere, so I came with him to the warehouse. He told me he was going to scout the area and that he'd be back soon."

Terry cursed into the phone, and with a start, Charlie realized that he didn't know half of the words spewing out of her mouth…Charlie decided it blame it on the static; there was no way he was that sheltered.

"Listen Charlie, I want you to lock the doors and -"

"I have." Charlie interrupted, "Don't worry; Don already wrung that promise out of me."

"Good," Terry sounded a little more relieved, "Now no matter what you hear, you aren't to leave the car. We'll be there in less than five minutes to find Don, alright?"

"I'm not a kid, Terry; you don't have to try and make me feel better." Charlie muttered sounding insulted.

Terry laughed, "I know, but-"

A sudden explosion rocked the van, throwing nearby dirt into the air and tossing the phone out of Charlie's hand. With a short, cut off scream, he was sent crashing into the driver's window, cracking his already abused head brutally. Dazedly, Charlie picked himself from where he was lying across the two front seats. Holding his head, he felt blood seeping from the wound he had received from the unfortunate impact with the window and running down his temple. Wiping the blood away, Charlie dragged himself back into his seat and grabbed his notebook. He didn't care what anyone said, he was getting out of this car now. Don could be hurt, not to mention that the SUV didn't seem all that safe anymore.

Fumbling with the lock, Charlie suddenly heard Terry's voice screaming through the phone. Forgetting about the lock for the moment, which seemed to have suddenly become way too complicated anyway, Charlie lurched for the phone and had just found it on the backseat when two more things happened simultaneously.

Another blast went off, much closer this time, sending the entire van flipping over and Charlie tumbling headfirst into the backseat, landing at an awkward angle and through a haze of pain and confusion, Charlie saw Don rushing towards him. Groaning, Charlie tried to push himself up and perhaps escape through a cracked window, but he had to stop as another nearby explosion blew out the front window, sending shards of speeding glass into his unprotected face. Wincing as he felt the sharp shards imbed themselves in his face, he blindly reached out and kicked at the backside window, trying to create an escape route.

Then, abruptly, he was pulled out through the shattered front window, yelping as he was caught and ripped away from a protruding piece of glass by his older brother. Soon, he was staggering away from the wreckage with the help of Don who ended up half carrying him as Charlie got progressively weaker.

"It was the window." Charlie mumbled as he stumbled to a halt, "The force of the blast directly equates to the strength of the glass. If the glass was reinforced, then the blast must-"

"Oh God, Charlie! Charlie!" Don sat him down a far distance away from the car and started shaking him, "Are you alright?"

"I didn't leave the car." Charlie answered drunkenly, smiling lopsidedly.

"You idiot." Don snapped halfheartedly, too relieved that his brother was alive to be mad.

"Don?" Charlie asked after a while, when his head had cleared a little.

"Yes Charlie?" Don asked, eyes swiveling in search of danger, "Does your head hurt at all?"

"No…well, yes, but I wanted to ask what happened. Why did the explosions start?"

Don sighed and raked a hand through his sooty hair. "I'm not sure. The kidnappers booby-trapped the place, that's for sure, but I didn't see anyone inside, so-"

"You went inside!" Charlie said angrily, but stopped when Don held up his hand.

"So," he continued, "either I set it off, the kidnappers triggered it from a remote location, or the bombs were so unstable that a little static electricity set them off. What I'm worried about is if the kidnappers did it, because that would mean that they knew we were-"

"Uh Don," Charlie said meekly, "I don't think the kidnappers set the bomb off." Charlie held up Don's broken and bent cell phone that was still clenched in his hand for him to inspect. "Maybe it still works." Charlie said weakly.

Don's lips tightened and taking the phone, he threw it as far away from them as possible "At least there didn't seem to be many bombs." he muttered, peeling off his jacket and wrapping it around Charlie.

"Hey," Charlie said, trying to struggle out of the jacket, "This is your Kevlar jacket isn't it? I can't take it; you may need it."

"This place is dangerous and the kidnappers may still be around; just because I didn't see any, doesn't mean there aren't any. I don't want you getting hurt." Don said, zipping the jacket up.

"If anyone's going to get shot at, it would be you, the FBI agent." Charlie stressed, trying to stop Don's hands.

"Charlie!" Don finally snapped, patience wearing thin; then he continued in a softer voice, "Please keep the jacket. I'll feel better if you have it on."

Charlie sighed and let Don fix the bulky jacket, "Terry said she'd be here soon."

Don smiled halfheartedly, "I'm sure she's speeding."

Charlie smiled back and leaned into Don, closing his eyes. Looking down, Don ruffled his hair gently and pulled Charlie closer, letting him rest against him. Soon, Charlie had fallen into a restless slumber. Don winced; Charlie shouldn't be sleeping if he had been hit on the head, but Don didn't know what else to do with him. It wasn't as if he could make Charlie stay awake by making him recite the Fibonacci numbers or something; Charlie could list those in his sleep.

Above his brother's mop of curly hair, Don's eye scanned the area. It really wasn't safe to stay here, out in the open, but if Charlie was hurt, then there was no other choice. At least, Don thought, we should move to a more defensible position. Seeing nothing of use, Don looped his slumbering brother's arm over his shoulder and dragged him over to the upturned SUV. Leaning his brother against the exposed bottom, Don raised his head up and looked at his surroundings once more. Terry would be here any second; all Don had to do until then was make sure neither of them got into trouble until then.

Don turned back towards Charlie. He was muttering in his sleep. Equations probably. Don stared at his brother as he mumbled something about pi and its relevance to sine waves. Smirking, Don brushed a lock of hair away from Charlie's forehead; he never pretended to understand him, just being his brother was enough for him.

"Oh look, how cute."

Don swung his gun around to face the person in front of him. A burly man with cold blue eyes had suddenly appeared, standing in front of him, clutching a mini Uzi and pointing it at him menacingly. The man motioned with his gun and Don stood up slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements.

"Drop the gun."

"Look lets-"

"Drop it or I'll kill him." he growled, pointing the gun at the hapless Charlie.

Don dropped the gun, letting it clatter it the ground and held his hands out in front of him. "What do you want?" he hissed, shooting a frantic glance at a rousing Charlie.

"Help your little brother up, Agent Eppes," the man said, gesturing with his gun, "and if you do it fast enough, it might be appeased enough not to put a bullet through him straight away."

Don's blood froze at his words. He shuddered and quickly bent to pick Charlie up. Charlie groaned at the sudden movement, but he shakily stood at Don's urging. Quavering unsteadily, he leaned on Don tiredly, burying his face in his shoulder.

"You know our names." Don accused, protectively curling an arm around his brother.

The man smirked, his chocolate brown hair glinting in the sunlight, "I know a lot of things, _Donnie_. For instance, I know how smart your brother Charlie is, and I know he helps you out with your work sometimes. It was only a matter of time before you called him in on this case."

Don stiffened. "You set us up." he snarled.

"I set your brother up;" he corrected, "you were just part of the equation, and do you know what happens to the extraneous part of the equation?"

He leveled the gun at Don's chest. Don pushed Charlie away and dove forward, grappling for the gun. As Charlie sank down to the ground, two shots went off into the air and Don punched the other man twice in the stomach, twisting the gun away from him and sending him flying to the dirt. The blue-eyed man sped to his feet and threw himself at Don, sending them both crashing into the SUV, while Charlie scrambled away from the fighting pair.

Charlie looked around him frantically. He was still drowsy and dizzy from the explosions, but that was of no importance now. While his brother and the other man exchanged blows, Charlie scanned the area looking for anything useful. His eyes lit upon the Uzi that Don had tossed to the side after he had wrenched it from their assailant's hands.

Quickly, Charlie limped towards it, aware of all the hurried movements behind him. Then, suddenly, the other man threw himself on top of him, his weight pinning Charlie to the ground, mere inches away from the gun.

A hot breath puffed in his ear. "Now you see, that was a bad idea." he rasped.

Then he hefted Charlie up by the lapels, holding him in front of him and twisting his arms behind his back. "Especially since now I have a hostage."

He took a smaller handgun out of his waistband and held it to Charlie's head.

"Do that and I'll blow a hole through your head." Don said, struggling to his feet with his own gun in his hands."

He smirked, "I wonder, did Charlie ever tell you that having a gun pointed at your head, means that, statistically, you're dead? If not, maybe he can tell you this, who here was the greatest probability of getting shot, me or him?"

Don clenched his teeth, listening to Charlie's short terrified gasps and slowly lowered the gun. "Even I can figure out that one." he said softly.

"I thought so." the man tightened his grip on Charlie and started dragging him away, with Don watching helplessly.

Don kept his gun up and ready to shoot in case their assailant made any mistakes, but he kept Charlie between him and Don's gun at all times, making it impossible for Don to get a good shot. Frustrated, Don ducked behind the SUV to try to sneak up on the other man, but as he peered around the corner of the overturned van, he felt a blinding pain in his head and then…all he knew was darkness.

**T**o **B**e **C**ontinued…


	2. Between a Kidnapper and his Captive

**Numb3rs: Family Ties**

**Between a Kidnapper and his Captive**

**Disclaimer: **I don't have anything to do with the creation or use of the wonderful TV show called Numb3rs.

**A/N: **This is my first Numb3rs story and I'd love any feedback I can get. All kinds of criticisms are welcome. Also, I'd like to thank everyone for all their wonderful reviews; they really made me feel happy.

**Summary: **The Eppes brothers have been through thick and thin, but when the stakes change, will they be able to pull through for each other?

**W**hen Charlie woke up late the next day, he was cold, wet, had a horrible headache and for a second, thought he had actually gotten drunk the night before and was just now suffering the consequences. Then, when he tried to get up and tripped over the strong steel chain that was attached to his ankle, the horrible events of last night came back to him…

As Charlie's attacker had been dragging him away, Charlie had caught sight of a second man with another gun sneaking up behind Don who was glaring at the two of them anxiously. Charlie's breath caught in his throat and he tried to shout for Don to watch out, struggling in his captor's immobile arms.

For all his troubles, he had been clipped on the head with the handgun and while he was still seeing stars, he was unceremoniously hoisted up and tossed into the back of a nearby van. As the van revved up, Charlie had scrabbled towards the nearest door and fumbled with the lock before the other man pointed his gun at him and forced him to back away from the doors. Helplessly, Charlie had watched from the window as the man stole up behind Don and hit him across the head with the butt of his gun. Charlie cried out in dismay and clenched his fists angrily.

Turning to the man, he whispered crossly, "No one's going to capture you now. I'm a math professor; I can't do anything, so why don't you just let me go to my brother and make a clean get-"

Charlie was suddenly thrown back in his seat as the car squealed forward and stopped by the overturned SUV. Charlie got a spilt second glimpse of his brother's still form, before he was pushed backwards by the other man who was clambering into the seat and pressing him against the opposite door. Charlie groaned in sudden pain and then ferociously threw himself at the stronger man.

Tackling him to the seat, Charlie punched him awkwardly and tried to reach around him and unlock the door, but then the man flipped him over and sent him crashing to the floor, his body contorting uncomfortably in the small space. Surging upwards, he was stopped short by a gun resting against his chest.

"Slowly. Get up slowly." the brown-eyed man snarled, twisted around in his seat, eyes glinting dangerously.

Slowly, Charlie raised himself up onto his elbows when he was picked up and flung into the seat and hit hard in the stomach. Charlie choked out half a breath before he was punched repeatedly. He curled into himself, protectively covering himself with his arms.

"Matt, stop that!"

The man in front reached between them and forcibly separated the two. "We've got to get out of here before the Fed wakes up." he said, putting the car back in gear.

Matt was still holding Charlie up by his torn Oxfords. "The boy"-Charlie bristled-"hit me, Ron!" he growled.

"Get over it." Ron snapped, "We're not allowed to rough him up, remember."

Charlie's eyes darted between the two talking men. This looked worse with every passing minute. The fact that he knew what both of them looked like was one thing, knowing their names was even worse. The chances of making it out of this alive were growing slimmer with every new detail the kidnappers revealed about themselves. Statistically, the chances of talking the kidnappers into letting him go were worse than the chances of him winning the Lottery, but Charlie could at least try.

"You don't need me." he said shakily, "In fact, taking me will only lower the probability of your success. The situation will only get increasingly drastic if you take me along. You've already tried to…"-Charlie's voice broke-"kill my brother who's a FBI agent. They won't take that lightly. The FBI will come after you with everything they have. I'll just slow you down to the point of capture."

Ron smirked. "I bet you could even graph that out for us, pretty boy."

Charlie glared. "I wouldn't lie about this. The rate of success is directly proportionally to-"

"Completing our objective, which we have." Ron said, speeding out of the lot and onto the highway.

"Your objective?" Charlie said fearfully.

"You." Matt sneered, while dousing a cloth with liquid from an opened unlabeled brown bottle.

Charlie slapped the sodden cloth away from his mouth. "And Don?" he whispered, struggling with Matt to keep the cloth away from his face.

Matt hit him again, making Charlie cry out, and forced him down on the seat, clamping the cloth over his mouth and nose.

Ron turned and looked at him as Charlie's muscles went limp and his world, fuzzy. "Just an extraneous part of the equation." he repeated.

Now done relieving the horrors of the day before, Charlie looked around his miniature prison. It was a dank dark little room with only one window that was boarded up. Looking about, he couldn't help reflecting on his captors' love for old disused rooms. Then Charlie saw a door on the right and walked towards it, jerking to a stop three paces later when the chain let him go no further. He was so close, but he couldn't reach the knob. Panicking slightly, Charlie flexed his fingers; he really needed to do some math. He needed to put chalk to blackboard and relieve some tension. Trying to relax and stay calm, Charlie muttered under his breath and stared at the place where the chain connected to the wall. Next to it, a small dribbling stream of water flowed down to the ground, creating a puddle.

Kneeling next to it, Charlie quickly calculated the effect of erosion on the concrete wall. It would take thirty years for the water to erode the concrete enough to create a small hole. He wasn't going to get any help from there. Charlie stood up, brushing water from his pants and walked over to the threadbare bed. It had a steel frame with intertwining bars as a headboard. True to form, it even had a lumpy mattress, which Charlie could attest to having spent the night on it. Finally, Charlie started examining each link on the chain that kept him prisoner. A couple looked brittle, but they were still too strong to break with just his fingers; he needed some kind of leverage.

Sighing, Charlie slumped back onto the bed, listening to it creaking as it adjusted to his weight. Creaking…Charlie shot off the bed. If it was creaking then something, a bolt or a nut, must be loose. If Charlie could dismantle the bed, then he could use one of the metal bars as a lever to pry open one of the links. Then he'd be free.

Slipping to the floor, Charlie scooted under the bed and quickly located the loose bolt. He tried unscrewing it with his bare fingers, but ended up cutting himself several times. Softly cursing, Charlie slid out from under the bed coughing at the dust and felt his way to the dripping pipe. Letting the water run soothingly over bleeding fingers, Charlie bit his lip and thought. The only experience he had with tools was through his father's furnace. What he really needed was a wrench.

Looking around him, Charlie's eyes lit upon the links in his chain. They looked wide enough to fit onto the nut and if he twisted properly, maybe he could use the links as a makeshift wrench and unscrew the bolt. He looked the links and finding the perfect one, he slid back under the bed and fit the link on the screw. Twisting furiously, the screw gave a tremendous creak before loosening. Quickly Charlie dissembled the rest of it and in no time had a metal pole as long as his arm.

Charlie placed the rod on the ground and stepped on one end of it to make the round opening close to a point. Now he had a lever. Charlie sorted through the links on his chain, searching for the weakest one. Finding it, he quickly estimated the pressure he needed and popped the link open. Shaking his leg free of the chain, he let it trail behind him as he walked, free, to the door.

Turning the knob, Charlie realized that the door was locked. Checking it closely, Charlie found that it had neither hinges nor a keyhole. Turning, Charlie looked at the boarded up window. Walking over to it, Charlie pried opened one board, letting a stream of light into the room. Peering through the small opening, Charlie realized that he was on the top floor, maybe even in an attic.

He was high above some of the trees and looking down he saw part of a street sign reading, Wister's…the rest was cut off by bushy trees.

Suddenly, Charlie jerked away from the window; he could hear voices.

"He better pay us good for this Ron. He had better pay us good. Not only do we have to keep the kid in this place, but now we have to feed him to? And this crap, look at it, we absolutely had to make the kid his favorite food and make sure he eats it too, because apparently, when he's stressed or worried, he forgets to eat."

Charlie moved closer to the door and caught the end of Ron's reply.

"…We're being paid well. Don't hurt the kid and we'll be a hundred grand richer. Remember the deal."

Charlie looked at the metal bar in his hands at then back at the door. Shaking, he walked next to the door and waited, whispering equations under his breath to calm himself down.

"Wait a second Ron, let me get this blasted phone. Someone's calling."

"It's probably the Boss. Hold your tongue, Matt." Ron warned.

"Hello? Yes, he's fine…what do you mean we should have locked him up better? What's the kid going to do, Boss? Come at me with his hidden taser? We took away anything that could use, even those house keys in his back pocket you told us about …yeah, I know he's smart…I know you know him best,"-Charlie tightened his sweaty grip on the bar-"right down to his favorite color of socks, I know. But he's still just a kid…"-Charlie tensed, raised the bar over his head and began calculating speed, weight and pressure quickly-"Wait, just hold on a minute. Let me give him this food…yes, we made what you told us-"

He was too early.

He couldn't have messed up his calculations; he never did, but he hadn't taken his humanness into account. In his hurry and fear, he had forgotten everything he had learned in the sniper case. He must have overlooked something: adrenaline, fear, tremors, it didn't matter now; but instead of cracking the metal bar on top of his captor's head, Charlie smashed into the tray he was carrying instead. Both he and his kidnapper screamed as hot soup splashed over them both, but as Matt stumbled backwards, Charlie darted forwards.

He dashed through the house hearing agonized shouting behind him. Wincing at noise, Charlie skidded around a corner and fled down the hall, stopping only to pick himself up when he crashed into a side table. Shaking himself, Charlie rose to his knees, only to be thrown to the ground again as he was tackled from behind, his knee twisting painfully. Charlie screamed and slumped under the man's weight. Above him, he could faintly hear his assailant talking.

"Don't worry, we've got him boss. The noise…he's not hurt, seriously, it's probably just a little sprain…yeah, yeah, we'll take care of it…chalk? Listen boss, this isn't what we signed up for; you said the kid would be-…alright, alright, we'll get the camera and take the picture. I'm on it." Still sitting on him, Ron flipped the phone closed and hauled Charlie up.

"Camera?" Charlie murmured almost out of it.

"Yeah," Ron smirked, "You might want to pretty yourself up; we'll be taking some pictures to make sure that Donnie doesn't worry."

Charlie muttered something incomprehensible, but then he groaned as his leg buckled under him and Ron had to compensate and half-carry him back to his locked room, dumping him on the floor near the trickling water and grabbing a coil of rope.

"That was a stupid stunt you pulled back there." Ron commented, handcuffing his hands together and roughly tying his legs together with tough rope, "If you do it-"

"I'LL KILL HIM!" Matt roared, running back into the room with a wet cloth over the left side of his face.

"Matt," Ron said cheerfully, "I was just telling Charlie here that if he tried that again, I'd cut off his foot, so I'm sure we won't have any more problems."

At Charlie's horrified blanch, Matt's anger subsided and he sneered at him, before turning to Ron. "I'll take apart the bed."

"Good idea, but leave the mattress; we don't want the Boss to get upset with us for maltreating him. Gag him until we're done, and remember to board the window up again." Matt said, turning to leave.

"Where are you going?" Matt snapped, leaning down to look at the bed.

"I need to get some things. Just make sure he doesn't go anywhere alright?"

"Yeah, no problem." Matt muttered.

Two hours later, the room was completely bare except for the mattress and Charlie who had fallen into a painful doze, leaning against the wall. He was awoken with a sharp kick and yelped loudly as food was placed in front of him.

"Tomato…my favorite soup?" Charlie asked curiously.

Ron shrugged. "Boss knew it was and asked us to prepare it."

Charlie looked down at his bowl. "My mother used to make it for me." Charlie's stomach clenched and he slowly put the bowl to the side as Ron handed something else to him, "Chalk…another gift from your boss?" he questioned.

"He said you might like to have some; something about how it'll make you feel better. I'm not sure what comfort chalk can give you, but the Boss knows best." Matt bent and rechecked the handcuffs, but loosened the ropes on his legs, "I'll be back in a half an hour to take your picture; if you're anywhere near the door at that time, I'll knock you unconscious, shoot you and let your brother see you like that, covered with blood and dying."

As Matt and Ron locked the door shut, Charlie stood. He had no intention of going anywhere the door. He looked at the chalk clutched in his hand and then at the wonderfully blank walls before him. Finally, _finally_, he was back to doing things that he knew about. He wasn't a hero or an adventurer; he was a math professor, and now he was going to be able to do what he did best: Math.

Grinning, for the first time in what felt like forever, Charlie stood carefully, favoring his right leg. He had work to do.

**T**o **B**e **C**ontinued…


	3. Running on Dry

**Numb3rs: Family Ties**

**Running On Dry**

**Disclaimer: **I don't have anything to do with the creation or use of the wonderful TV show called Numb3rs.

**A/N: **This is my first Numb3rs story and I'd love any feedback I can get. All kinds of criticisms are welcome. Also, I've been wondering if anyone figured out who the mastermind behind the kidnapping is yet; I left little clues through out these three chapters. If you have any ideas, I'd love to read what you think. Finally, I'd like to thank everyone for all their wonderful reviews; they really made me feel happy.

**Summary: **The Eppes brothers have been through thick and thin, but when the stakes change, will they be able to pull through for each other?

**D**on limped out of his car and headed towards his office. Entering it, he slumped down into his seat, covering his face with his face in a rare display of vulnerability. Rubbing his temple, he tried soothing his raging headache, but to no avail.

His nightmares had plagued with finding Charlie lying facedown in a ditch.

He couldn't even imagine it, his little brother with all of his quirks and idiosyncrasies actually still, even in death, for more than a moment. Charlie was always full of life, from the far off light in his eyes when he was thinking things that maybe only a hundred people worldwide could appreciate and only a dozen understood to the nervous twitching of his fingers when he needed to write some complex equation down, he was always in action. When Don was younger, it used to drive him crazy; he'd hate the way Charlie would toss and turn at night like his brain had too many thoughts in it and way his chair used to make that creaking sound when he bent back in it, thinking furiously.

Now Don would give anything to hear Charlie spout out one more theorem or axiom. He kept picturing Charlie huddling in a small dark room, terrified by his captors, hoping that Don would rescue him. Don would have to save him, there was no one else that Don trusted enough to do so.

"Don," Terry soft voice cut through the pain in Don's head, "I thought the hospital said you should have lots of bed rest. You did have a pretty severe concussion."

"I just couldn't stand Dad's face for another minute. I'd rather be wasting my time here, than being helpless at home. I just can't sit at home when he's out…there" Don made an angry, frustrated gesture with his hands.

"Your father doesn't blame you; he's just worried about Charlie," Terry said softly, "And you are doing something."

"If he doesn't blame me, then he should. He's warned me again and again about dragging Charlie into these things. He kept telling me that Charlie wasn't suited for FBI work, and that he only wanted to please his older brother, and now-" Don sighed and covered his face, "Do have anything?"

"As a matter of fact," David said, entering the office, "This just came in the mail"-David turned the slim package over in his hands-"and it's addressed to you."

"Other than that, is there anything else on the package?" Don questioned warily.

"Unmarked." David answered gravely.

"Hand it here." Don sighed, taking the large envelope.

Don opened the envelope carefully with a tissue. Shaking it, two enlarged pictures fluttered facedown to the floor. Reaching down, Terry picked up the pictures and gasping, dropped them again, kicking them away.

"Terry?"

"Don," Terry paused as if thinking of the right words, "I…don't think you should be working on this case." She bent down to gather the fallen pictures in her arms before Don could see them. "I'll hand this off to the appropriate persons. You should go home and rest."

"Terry," Don said, his voice icy, "Let me see the pictures."

"Don," Terry said cautiously, backing out of the room, "I'm going to give this to another team. We'll talk later."

Don held his hand out demandingly. "Give it to me. Now."

Reluctantly, Terry handed the pictures over. Don turned over them over quickly and staring, slowly clenched his fists, crumpling the pictures. There, in the pictures was Charlie, bloodied and broken, slumping against the wall. His knee was swollen like a grapefruit and was visible even under his jeans; his face was pinched and white, and his nose was oddly aligned, like it had been broken. Blood was still gently streaming down his face, matting his hair, and dripping down from his nose.

His eyes were half-lidded, looking pleadingly at the camera, one of his hands bracing himself on the wall behind him…the wall behind him. It was full of Charlie's scribblings. Looking closer, he saw it was a series of equations written in small cramped handwriting. Don had only seen writing like this once before.

"He's losing it." Don muttered, staring wistfully at his brother, "Look, my father will be here in an hour; don't let him see this, no matter what. Check the envelope for anything else; then take everything to the lab and check for fingerprints."

David quickly shook the envelope and took out a small piece of paper; handing it to Don, he said, "Give me one of those pictures; you keep the other one for now; maybe Charlie wrote us a clue in one of them."

Don nodded and looked at the paper. "This is what he looks like now." he read softly, "He'll be worse if you start looking for him."

Don breathed harshly and studied the picture, staring hard at it until the formulas blurred. Snarling under his breath, Don stalked towards the board and pinned the picture to the wall.

"Get Amita and Larry in here. They have the best chance of figuring this out." he snapped.

"On it." Terry walked out of the room, dialing on her cell, while David gathered everything else up and started for the lab, leaving Don alone.

Don stared at the picture of Charlie and then shaking his head, he focused on the writing on the wall behind him.

"What are you trying to tell me, Charlie?" he whispered, touching the picture.

* * *

_(Three hours later)_

"What do you mean, you have no idea?"

"Well, for starters, there seem to be clusters of information, like sets." Amita said, pointing out three separate equations, "These three are N vs. NP, but this here looks different. He's using a completely different style of math…most of this is in Greek."

"My brother knows Greek?" Don asked, a trifle hysterical.

Larry looked at him, consoling. "Nearly all mathematicians know Greek, because most symbols are written in Greek."

"But you two don't have any idea what he's trying to tell us?" Don repeated.

Amita shook her head, dark hair bouncing. "If Charlie was trying to tell us something, then he made it a little too hard to figure out."

"It's interesting though," Larry mused, "the whole equation is written in Greek, except for the answer: 9478377."

"Is that weird?" Don questioned

"Well…" Amita hesitated, "the answer's right, except, if he wrote the entire equation in Greek, why not write the answer like that too?"

"Maybe," Terry interjected, "he's describing something, like the situation or where he is?"

Larry scrutinized the picture. "He could be, but what would the symbols represent?"

"Well," Don said sarcastically, "That's why _you_ were called here, but obviously, my little brother is-"

"Don," Terry said firmly, "I suggest you go home and spend some time with your father. We'll call you if something comes up."

"Terry-"

"We'll call you." Terry said warningly.

Don glared and stalked out of the room. Getting in his car, he headed home. He was tired and worried, and couldn't deal with his father right now. He felt so guilty; it was all his fault. If only he had dropped Charlie off somewhere, or stayed in the car with him, or even just kept a better eye on his surroundings…none of this should have happened, not while Don was there, supposedly watching over his brother.

Pulling into Charlie's driveway, Don slammed the car door closed and headed for the garage, taking his briefcase with him, which held all the relevant papers to Charlie's case, including a photocopy of his picture with the odd writing on it.

Don pulled open the garage door and cleared a space on the table, lovingly moving stacks of paper with Charlie's handwriting on it, to the side. Setting his briefcase in the cleared space, he dragged a chair over, letting it scrape against the floor. Settling himself in the chair, Don pulled the briefcase towards him and began to work.

It was over a two hours later and Don still hadn't learned anything new. He buried his fingers into his dark hair as the numbers in the picture behind Charlie started to blur. Once again, Don pulled the picture towards him and focused on the answer: 9478377. It didn't make sense; it wasn't Charlie. Charlie was smart and logical. He was passionate, true, but, according to Charlie, everything stemmed from numbers, which always followed through to a logical conclusion. This answer just didn't fit Charlie's standards. Why write the equations in Greek and then write the answer in English?

Something just wasn't-

Don jumped as the garage door opened and Don's father, Alan, walked in with a bowl of hot soup and Don's cell phone in his hands.

"I saw the light on and I figured-"

Don held up his hand, cutting Alan off and motioning him to come in.

Alan chuckled softly. "You know, I never thought that I'd be doing this for anyone else other than-" Alan cut himself off as Don slumped back in his seat tiredly.

"No clues?" Alan probed gently.

"You should go to bed, Dad." Don said, evading the question, "You were up all last night. If you keep this up, you'll wear yourself out."

Alan snorted and set the soup down with a thump. "Pot calling the kettle black." he quipped, "Move over so I can help."

"Sorry Dad." Don said, gathering his papers, "FBI sensitive."

Alan's hand smacked the table hard, rattling the soup and cell phone. "Charlie just isn't your little brother; he's my youngest son too, and I'll be damned if I just sit here while you kill yourself looking for him."

Don scrutinized him carefully and then quietly handed him the papers he was holding close to his chest. Alan's face got grayer and grayer as he flipped through the papers. Reaching the final one, Alan closed his eyes briefly, running his fingers over the picture lightly.

"What would Margaret say?" he whispered.

Don looked back at the picture Alan was caressing lovingly. "That we didn't do anything wrong; and that we're going to get him back."

Alan sighed as he looked down at the picture. "I wish I could believe that."

Don closed his eyes. "Yeah," he murmured, picking up his phone, "Me too."

Don leaned back in his chair, flipping his phone open and then closing it with a snap. Mulling over Charlie's equation, he suddenly shot forwards, letting the chair fall forward with a thud. He grabbed the picture out of his father's hands and studied it carefully while looking at his cell phone.

"Don?" Alan asked hesitantly.

Don ignored him, examining the cell phone. Then he grabbed a spare piece of paper, and turning it over, began it scribble on it furiously.

"Don!" Alan cried out, "What are you doing? That was your brother's!"

"Still is." Don answered, "Look at these numbers, Dad. 9478377. It looks like a phone number doesn't it?"

"Umm…"

"Disregard the equation itself, and only look at the answer. That's what Charlie wanted us to focus on."

Alan furrowed his brow. "Charlie gave us a phone number?"

"No, that was just a clue to point us in the right direction. Look at my cell; for every number, there are letters. What if each number represents a letter that tells us about his location or kidnappers. This sequence of numbers could represent a name or county, or street name."-Don paused for an instant to chuckle-"It was staring us straight in the face; leave it to Charlie to think of something so simple that it's hard."

Alan stared at him and then quickly stood. "I'll call Terry." he said, running out the door.

Don barely heard him; he was too busy writing down the letters on a legal pad. He'd run them through the computer and see if their were any matches to streets and then if that didn't work, he'd try names and then…he was on a roll; they were going to find Charlie safe and sound.

This was all going to work out.

The door creaked open. "Terry," Don said not turning, "I've found-"

Don jerked to the left, instinctively ducking. He felt a sharp sting on his temple and flew to the floor, groaning. Dully, he watched a steel hammer fall to the ground next to him and a shadowy body tower over him.

Roughly, the figure above him said, "Gather his papers and bring him. We have to get out of here quick."

Behind him, on the verge of unconsciousness, Don could hear the shuffling of papers and then, unexpectedly, the desk crashed to the ground, probably pushed by one of the men. Don's cell clattered close by and his hand sluggishly inched towards it, before one of the men kicked it away from him.

Still, Don hand's hand pitifully reached for it, though it was out of reach. There was something about the cell; something he needed to remember, something important…why did-

Too late, Don lost the last tendrils of the thought as he drifted into darkness.

**T**o **B**e **C**ontinued…


	4. Brothers

**Numb3rs: Family Ties**

**Brothers **

**Disclaimer: **I don't have anything to do with the creation or use of the wonderful TV show called Numb3rs.

**A/N: **I've gotten so many great reviews and encouragements for this story that I have to send out a heart-felt thank-you to all of my readers out there. I hope the story continues to meet up to your standards. I just wanted to let everyone know that we're on the second-to-last chapter. I intended this story to be short and conclude quickly in five chapters and for once, my plans actually worked out. I hope you enjoy this chapter and remember, review!

**Summary: **The Eppes brothers have been through thick and thin, but when the stakes change, will they be able to pull through for each other?

"**D**on?"

Ron glared at Charlie and kicked him hard in the ribs, throwing him back onto the lumpy mattress. Matt, who was holding his bleeding brother up by his hair, shoved him inside the small room. Don staggered in, barely cognizant, and tripped over the dripping faucet, sprawling onto the mattress on top of Charlie. Charlie groaned in pain as Don's weight crushed his bloated kneecap and barely noticed the two men entering the room after Don with a bucket of water and furiously scrubbing down the walls.

Charlie agonizingly shifted his weight out from under Don. "Your older brother's smarter than we thought." Ron said calmly, making sure no traces of chalk equations remained.

Charlie smiled weakly, "I knew he'd figure it out."

Matt growled in annoyance. "And look where it got him."

Charlie felt a surge of guilt hit him with the culmination of a tsunami. If these men hadn't been after him, then Don wouldn't even be in this mess. He wouldn't be hurt or worried. Charlie sighed. It seemed as if he always needed his older brother to save him from something or the other. When he was younger, it was bullies, and now…Charlie shook his head against invading memories, his dark curls bouncing. He was an adult now, twenty-nine years old and a mathematics professor. He was better than this.

As the two men left, Charlie stroked his brother's bloody hair, feeling carefully for the cut. Thankfully, it didn't seem very deep. Charlie eased off the bed and scooted towards the faucet on his bottom, scraping his bound feet on the ground. Charlie cupped his tied hands together and collected a small amount of water. Holding it tightly, he shuffled back towards Don and let the water trickle down his face in rivulets, mixing unattractively with congealing blood.

Don groaned and touching his head gingerly as the cool water woke him up. "Char…Charlie?"

"Hey Don, you alright?" Charlie whispered, leaning in close.

Don looked at him blearily, before suddenly leaping into action. He jerked upwards, nearly knocking heads with Charlie, before swinging his legs over the mattress, and examining Charlie's face.

"What did those bastards do to you?" he breathed, tilting Charlie's face in the dim light.

"Nothing." Charlie said defensively.

"Charlie, they broke your nose." Don snapped, touching it delicately.

Charlie let Don probe his nose and the area around it gently, before jumping away painfully when Don pressed against both sides of it painfully.

"What are you doing!" he yelped, clutching his nose, from which a thin stream of blood was once again flowing.

"Charlie, let me set it or you'll be breathing into your ear for the rest of your life." Don said, dragging him closer.

Charlie compiled, inching closer. "How…how did you get here?"

Don winced as he touched Charlie's nose, trying to find the break. "I figured out your code. Very quaint, using telephone numbers."

"I thought so." Charlie's breathing became increasingly labored as Don pressed his nose, "Aren't…aren't you supposed to wait for the swelling to go down?"

Don raised a brow. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Larry told me once that- OUCH! Just let go, let go! I'll take care of it later!" Charlie knocked Don's hands away, eyes watering, "Lets…lets just focus on getting out of here."

Don sighed in annoyance. "Fine. Shove over; I'll untie you."

"Thanks." Charlie said gratefully, holding his bound hands up.

Don quickly unknotted the ropes and while Charlie stretched his rope-worn arms and legs, he examined the door. "You find any way out?" he questioned, knocked lightly on the door.

Charlie shook his head. "I dismantled the bed and tried to use one of the poles as a weapon, but it only got me as far as the hallway."

Don blinked at him. "You got past them?" he asked incredulously.

Charlie blushed; so much for his pride. "Yes, but when that didn't work, I had to revert back to my math."

"You did great, Buddy." Don said ruffling Charlie's curls, "I'm here now; I'll take care of you."

Charlie smiled thinly. "I knew you would."

Staggering suddenly, Don placed his hand on the cleaned wall for support. Suddenly his face clenched, tightening as dizziness from the hit from the hammer caught up with him, causing the last meal in his stomach to try and regurgitate itself in a very disgusting way.

"Oh God…" Don bent over, face white.

"Don!" Charlie jumped to his feet and awkwardly patted his back, trying to soothe him, "Are…are you alright?"

"Yeah…Yeah…" almost collapsing, Don sank back onto the make shift bed, "What a day…" he muttered.

"You're telling me." Charlie quipped dryly.

Reaching up, Don grabbed Charlie and dragged him onto the bed. "You look like shit." he informed his younger brother.

"You should take a look in the mirror, pal." Charlie muttered.

Don grinned and stretched out on the bed, pulling his brother down with him. "No sense in wearing ourselves out when there's no way to get out. We'll rest for a while and then figure out what to do." Yawning tiredly, Don threw an arm protectively over Charlie and closed his eyes.

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Charlie questioned, before being lulled to sleep himself, by his brother's rhythmic breathing.

**…**

"_Mommy?" _

_The world tilted and spun before finally righting itself to reveal Charlie, dazed and confused, standing next to his eight-year-old self. Blinking, Charlie assessed the scene; his younger self was walking through hallways of his home, but something was different. Charlie looked around. The edges of the hall were blurred and soft, dark and gloomy. Was this how he remembered his childhood home?_

"_Mommy?" his younger shadow called out, "Mommy, where-"_

_The younger Charlie abruptly scrunched up his face, his pale complexion mirroring his older double. Quietly, he crept forward and leaned around the corridor like a sprinter ready to run the hundred-yard dash. Curiously, Charlie leaned with him, almost stumbling forward when his younger self walked forward, nervousness radiating from every pore of his body._

_Moving quickly, Charlie followed himself towards a cracked open door. As he walked closer he started to hear soft music drifting out of the room. Peeking in along with his double, he caught sight of his mother, ageless and beautiful, and his father, smiling and completely in love. Together, they were swaying slowly to the swirling music wrapping around them. The lit candles around them illuminated and darkened them at the same time, casting lifeless shadows around their bodies, but highlighting the identically rapture in their faces. Charlie smiled wistfully; he had always known that his parents had been in love, but…how much…it was indefinable. Leaning forward, Charlie strained forward to catch the whispered murmurs of his parents. _

"_Love you," Alan suddenly whispered into Margaret's hair, blowing stray strands out of her face. _

_His mother laughed, her voice a soft tinkle reverberating in her throat. "I love you too." she breathed, leaning her smooth forehead against his._

"_Nope," Alan said, suddenly twirling her around the room as the music cascaded upwards, "There's no possible way you could love me as much as I love you; sometimes I feel as though my heart would explode if I as much as let my eyes dwell on you for too long." he sighed as he slowed their dance until it was nothing more than a leisurely rocking between two bodies., "At least I'd die happy."_

_Margaret frowned, her pretty face darkening. "Don't say that," she admonished, "Who'd take care of the boys?"_

_Alan laughed. "Are you planning on dying soon?" he asked jokingly._

_Margaret shook her head, the frown still marring her pretty face. "No, but someone needs to be there for the boy's…Charlie-" She stopped moving suddenly and pulled away from Alan, as if distancing herself, not only physically, but also mentally._

_From the sidelines Charlie watched tensely; looking down, he could see the knots forming in his younger counterpart's shoulders._

"_You'll take care of the boys, if…if something happened to me, wouldn't you? _

_Alan shook his head in denial. "I'd follow you," he said fervently, with all the passion of a young man under true love's spell, with all the faith of a father…with all the naivety of someone who had never really lost someone close. "Not even the Devil himself would stop me." he swore._

_Margaret looked at him concernedly. "So…so don't you go off and do something silly." Alan warned jokingly, though his returning smile was strained._

_The mood, it seemed, had changed dramatically._

"_You can't Alan," Margaret said desperately, as if foreseeing the future, "Promise me you'll be here for the boys…always."_

_Alan hesitated. "Only if you promise me first. Promise me that you'll never leave me for as long as it's in your power to do so, because…because without you I don't make sense. I wouldn't be able to get up in the morning, or go to work, or even…I'd be hollow, hollow inside."_

_Margaret smiled, and suddenly, Charlie's world began to blur. She stepped back into Alan's welcoming embrace and hugged him close. "I promise."_

_Then, as Charlie's world faded away, he indistinctly heard his father whisper, "then…I promise too."_

_Fleeing back into the darkness from with he had arrived, all Charlie was left with were faint strains of music to lull him back to sleep._

**…**

Charlie's eyes snapped open; he knew he did who did it! Rolling over on the lumpy mattress, Charlie reached out an arm to shake Don awake, but…but…

Don was gone.

**T**o **B**e **C**oncluded…


	5. The Concept of Family

**Numb3rs: Family Ties **

**The Concept of Family**

**Disclaimer: **I don't have anything to do with the creation or use of the wonderful TV show called Numb3rs.

**A/N: **Well this is it- the last chapter. Sorry about the it's-never-going-to-end delay, but I hope everyone really enjoys this chapter, especially since I made you wait so long for it and remember- review!

**Summary: **The Eppes brothers have been through thick and thin, but when the stakes change, will they be able to pull through for each other?

"**D**on…Don?" Charlie frantically ripped apart the sheets and the jacket that had been painstakingly laid on top of him, "Don! Where are you?"

Scrambling to his feet, Charlie hobbled to the door, favoring his right leg heavily, and pounded on the wood, sharp splinters digging into his fists. "Open up!" he screamed.

After a few more minutes of incessant pounding, Ron threw open the door, bleary eyed and unshaven. "What the hell are you doing, you little shit!" he snarled, pushing Charlie back one-handedly, "Don't you know it's three-"

Charlie rammed into him, hands blindly reaching to get past his captor. But all too soon, Charlie's bloated knee collapsed and he fell into his captor instead past him. The impromptu fight ended with Charlie slammed against the wall so hard that the edges of his vision went black, and a hand at his throat. He struggled weakly, clawing at the constricting hands blocking his airway and kicking Ron ineffectually like a child, but soon he had to stop, the exertion wasting whatever precious air he could gasp into his lungs.

"I thought I told you that if you ever did anything like again, I'd cut off your leg." he hissed, his breath sour on Charlie's face.

"I…I…bet your…employer would like…that." Charlie wheezed, still valiantly fighting for breath.

Ron's eyes narrowed. Then slowly, he loosened his vice grip on Charlie's throat letting him take a few agonized breaths. "Figured it out, did you?" he asked shortly.

Charlie's brown eyes were wide with pain and fear, but he nodded tightly, jerking his head as much as Ron's hands would allow. Slowly, Ron released him completely and let Charlie slump against the wall and then slide to the ground, his gasping sobs the only sound in the room.

"Where's…" Charlie coughed, pausing for an instant, "Where's my brother?" he demanded.

"Your brother…" Ron hesitated, looking at Charlie's limp form kneeling on the carpeted floor, "Your brother's gone- dead." Then with a sweeping motion, Ron grabbed Charlie's upper arm and half dragged him back into the small, enclosed room. Pushing him inside, Ron slammed the door shut and stomped away, swearing loudly as he did so. Charlie stumbled into the room, falling to the side of the bed. Then he slumped backwards, practically reeling from shock.

His brother was dead?

_No no no no no no. _Charlie's mind spun with confusion and denial. His brother couldn't be dead. Not Don- not his brother. Don was perfect. He didn't get shot or hurt or lose. Don just kept on going; he was like a god, he could get angry or upset, but nothing actually touched him: nothing ever hurt-

And then Charlie remembered that if a gun was pointed at you then, statistically, you were dead. How many times had the Eppes brothers had guns pointed at their heads during their time here? How many times had Don been shot at in his life? He wasn't James Bond; statistically, Don's luck had to run out sometime…and it had- today.

Charlie choked back the keening wail building in his throat, dying to be let out, and wiped away the few chance tears that had dared make themselves known. He wasn't going to take this sitting down, not anymore. He knew who had done this, and he knew where he was…where Don's body was. He was going to stop this, stop him.

Charlie turned and began digging at the mattress.

Don stretched his sore legs as Matt pushed him out of the car and handcuffed his hands in front of him. He hadn't had the best night. No one liked waking up with a bloody gun pointed at their face, or their kid brother's. And then of course, there was wonderful car ride in which Don had had to squash length-wise into a car seat that couldn't even fit half of his height, much less his entire body.

Days like this never tended to get better…

_Don woke with a gun pointed at his face. Instinctively, he tightened the arm slung around his brother protectively. He shook his head: He wasn't letting them take Charlie anywhere without him. Matt snorted quietly and wagged the gun at _him_, making Charlie shift uneasily in his sleep. Don made a shushing noise and gently rocked Charlie until he was sleeping peacefully again. He was mumbling something in his sleep- maybe he was dreaming._

_Noiselessly, Don slipped his arm off from around Charlie's slim frame, and agilely rolled off the bed, placing his warm FBI jacket over Charlie so that he didn't get cold. "What do you want?" he hissed, his voice as steely as during any interrogation. _

"_Come on. Outside." Matt mouthed, clearly not wanting to wake Charlie._

_Don hesitated. His instincts told him to wake Charlie, to let him know that something was going on…but, if something…bad was going to happen, then he didn't need to leave his younger brother in hysterics. Don shot one last glance at Charlie curled up form and followed Matt out the room, watching the gun trained on him steadily. _

"_Come on, big shot, we're going for a ride." Matt grabbed his arm, dragging him away, and only then did Don begin to fight…_

He hadn't gotten much out of the fight, or apparently, all his hours working out at the gym. Sure he had given Matt a spilt lip and a black eye, but he had a bloody nose and a couple of bruised ribs in return.

"Hey." Matt waved the gun in front of his face, "Don't you recognize where we are?"

Don stared at his surroundings. His eyes swept over the familiar gravel path and beautiful Craftsman home. "Oh…" he muttered softly.

He was home.

It seemed to Charlie that it took eons –he could finally put a measure to one– to rip up the old mattress and pull out a spring to yank open the boarded window. From now on when one of his students asked how long an eon was, he'd tell them that it was the time it took to find a loose thread of a mattress and keep ripping and tearing at it, until you hit metal.

The fall itself wasn't too bad. Charlie had calculated the injuries and was sure that he would break something, most likely his back, but when he finally landed, adrenaline allowed him to keep the scream of pain somewhere deep inside he didn't know he had, roll over, and run…or rather limp, since by now he had figured out that the snapping sound he had heard was his ankle bone.

Hobbling over a mile to the highway had been a task in itself, Charlie flinching every time a car zoomed by. He didn't need to be a mathematician to know that the possibilities of getting hit by a speeding car were high, and no- he didn't need to instantly calculate the chances of there being anything left of Don by the time he summoned by the courage to hitch a ride with someone, he really didn't need that.

Determinedly, Charlie stepped up to the side of the road, and stuck his thumb up, eyes hopeful. Cars continued to race by, most people were too smart to stop for a hitchhiker, especially when hitchhiking was illegal. Desperately, Charlie began walking down the highway, trying to speed up his progress, even though, at the rate he was traveling- a few broken steps per minute, the result would be infantile in its success.

Finally…finally, a truck slowed down to the side of the road and a young girl with strawberry blonde rolled down the window and poked her head out. "My Daddy says that if you want a ride, then you better get in the back real quick, and shout out when you wanna be let out."

Charlie nodded shortly and tried to hop up, landing painfully in the bed of the trunk, face splayed against the hard metal. With a rumble, the truck started up and merged into the traffic, traveling much faster than Charlie was walking. Charlie scrambled to his hand and knees and peered at the speeding world, reflecting that it should have been Don sitting here feeling the wind in his face, smelling the acidy exhaust fumes, breathing in the pollution of an average Los Angeles day.

It should have been Don who survived.

Don stiffened as Matt pushed him to the back of the house, bypassing the garage. Gun pressed to the back of his head, Don stumbled to a halt at the edge of Charlie's koi pond. Dully, Don fixated his gaze on a spot on the far side of the pond. The koi were swimming lazily back and forth, eyes lolling when they sensed the slightest rippling disturbance in the water.

The gun's safety clicked off. "You know, Don, I've been thinking about your brother. He's rather good-looking isn't he?"

Don felt himself go cold at the insinuation in Matt's words.

"I've been in prison before," Matt stated roughly, "and I found out something that you might find interesting. Those young sweet boys are very good at spreading their legs." Chuckling, Matt poked Don once with the gun. "Maybe when I get back me and your brother-"

Don turned and punched him, coming at him with everything he had- feet, arms, teeth. Then, even with his tied hands limiting his movement, Don leapt after him, splashing into the koi pond after his stumbling figure. Hurdling forward, he looped his hands over Matt's flailing body and pushed down, slamming his head against a rock at the bottom of the pond. Matt struggled up sluggishly for air, his eyes blinking myopically, and the blood bright on his fair skin.

Furious, Don helped him, wrenching his head back by his hair and hissing, "Never! Never talk about my brother like that." Then deliberately, Don pushed Matt's head back under the water, ignoring his weakening struggles.

Don wasn't sure when he finally let Matt go. He held him there for a long time- long after his knuckles went white from the strain of clenching Matt's hair so tightly, long after Matt went through his last drowning convulsions…far longer than he needed to. Slowly, arms stiff, Don released Matt's body, swearing that he could feel his fingers cracking from the effort of unclenching them from Matt's lifeless hair.

Clothes soaked, Don watched numbly as Matt's body floated upwards, bobbing listlessly on the surface of Charlie's beloved koi pond. His water weighted clothes were slowly, but surely pulling him down, and the fish were only now starting to lazily drift near him, nipping almost distractedly at his dead clothes or lifeless face, a cruel mockery of what it once was.

Don got up, wide-eyed and staggered back, shivering in the waning sunlight. Then, abruptly, he sank to his knees, trying to stop, stifle, or at least quiet, the keening, desperate cry that escaped his lips as he leaned over and dry retched, stomach heaving in turmoil. He had killed someone. _He_ had _killed_ someone. Charlie hadn't even been in true danger, just implied, but one word from Matt and Don had flown at him- punching him, choking him…killing him.

He had killed someone for his brother.

His stomach heaved again and he forced his eyes away from the floating body in the pond, instead focusing of the trampled grass he was clenching desperately as if to anchor him to reality. His brother had planted all of this, coaxing the plants and surroundings to life out of pure will more than anything else. His brother who had once chased him through these woods because he had stolen some polyatomic chart or something, his brother still helped Don with homework even though now it was a lot more dangerous, his brother who…who he had killed for.

Don closed his eyes, kneeling in the mud with his hands bound and let his new assailant come up behind him and press a gun to his head.

"Good morning, Dad." he whispered.

Alan Eppes flinched at his oldest son's words. "How did you know it was me?" He asked dully, pressing the gun harder into his elder son's skull.

Don shrugged. "You're my father." he murmured, the words catching and drifting in the wind.

"I'm sorry Donnie," Alan sighed, "I didn't want it to happen like this. I didn't want this to happen at all, but it's got to-"

"Dad…no stop!" Charlie stumbled over the crest of the small hill that led downwards to the koi pond and fell to his knees a couple of feet away.

Alan turned around, swinging the gun to face Charlie. "Charlie, get out of here!" Don yelled out.

"Oh Charlie…" Alan's face transformed into a gruesome mask of terrible sadness, "I promised Margaret that I'd take care of you, but look at you now. Just look at you."

"Dad," Charlie said slowly, "Look at yourself. This isn't you. You're pointing a gun at your own son. Put it down."

Alan laughed, wild and insane. "I haven't been myself for years now, boys. I haven't…I haven't…ever since your mother died." he laughed again, "Charlie," he said, his voice suddenly hardening, "Get over there," he gestured his with gun towards Don, "Go on, move it."

Charlie staggered towards Don, thankful when Don caught him and placed himself protectively in front of his younger brother. "Come on Dad." Don pleaded, "You don't want to this. I know…I know it's been hard, it has been for all of us, but this isn't the way to handle it."

Alan chuckled, his eyes twinkling like normal. "Oh but you see, this is the only way. I tried so hard to keep you boys safe like Margaret wanted, but with your job, Donnie, there isn't much I can do…not much I can do against the drug-dealers and bombers of the world, is there? But…but at least Charlie was safe, we were together, and math couldn't hurt anyone, that is until he started working for you."

Don winced.

"Don't think I didn't know how much danger he was in. He was-"

"Dad, I was never in any danger." Charlie protested.

"You almost got shot!" Alan screamed, spitting, "You almost got shot," he repeated, calmer, "And imagine my surprise at learning it from the TV, instead of my boys. Hmm?" Alan paced back and forth in front of them. "So I decided that I couldn't keep you safe here, not here. I wasn't good enough alone. It was always Margaret and me who took care of you, not just me, never just me. But up there," Alan pointed to the sky, "up there, Margaret's waiting for us. We can join her up there." Alan smiled at them, looking almost dreamy. "We'll all go up together."

"Dad-" Don started.

"Daddy," Charlie interrupted, his voice scared, "are…are you going to hurt us? Mom…" he swallowed, his body shaking, "Mom wouldn't want that. She'd- she'd want us to happy."

Alan looked at his sons, silent tears streaming down his face. "Yes…" he whispered, "Yes she would." He smiled. "I'm so sorry boys."

Then he pulled the trigger and the world went to hell.

One year later… 

Charlie fumbled with the keys to his apartment and opened the door, dropping his final cardboard filled box on the hardwood floor and walking into the kitchen for something to drink. It wasn't home. He couldn't smell the lingering remnants of his mother's cooking when he opened the cabinets, nor could he idly run his fingers down the wall and feel the notches carved into the wall signifying how tall he and Don had grown, but it was something. And, it was a mathematical statement that everything had to start somewhere. Pi started 3; the digits began at 1; and Charlie was going to start again…here.

"Hey Charlie, is that the last of your stuff I tripped over in the hallway?" Don asked, loosening the top button of his shirt and tossing Charlie his heavy jacket to be put away.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'll move it."

"You can to it later. Let's have dinner."

Charlie smoothed the jacket in his hands and put it away neatly in the closet, while Don got out two beers and starting heating up some leftover lasagna that Amita had made for them. It had been hard for the first month or two- living together. Their static personalities refused to bend to each other's styles of living. For instance, even though it was Don's apartment originally, Charlie couldn't help leaving his math calculations all over the place, and Don –so set in his bachelor ways- was equally unable to change his…well almost _all_ of his habits.

But thirteen years of living together as children did have some impact, and they learned when to push and when to let go. They learned when to avoid each other and when they needed each other. They learned that sometimes there was nothing for it, and that you needed to stop thinking about the past in order to move on.

"Charlie, get your head out of the clouds and come eat."

They ate in silence.

Before, it had always seemed that there was one presence missing at the table, but now, there were two. The silence that they created, two reproaching specters whose aura weighed heavily on the two men, caused them to bow their heads, shoveling food into their food with little attention to what it was.

"So Charlie," Don paused, wiping his mouth, "Did you talk to Megan today?"

"Yeah…she's pretty nice for a psychologist. And- um…I think I'm ready to help out at your work…" Charlie paused, watching Don's darkening face, "and Megan said so too." Charlie added quickly. "In fact, she said it might be good for me."

"No Charlie." Don said firmly, "Agent Reeves has no right making that sort of insinuation; I'll talk to her about that tomorrow. You don't work with me unless you have my say so, and I don't want you involved in my work again."

"Don, it wasn't your fault." Charlie said, striving not to let frustration enter his voice.

"Charlie." Don said, putting down his fork, "Don't push me, okay, Buddy. Not right now."

Charlie winced as Don dropped his half-full dish in the sink with a clatter and left the room silently. Suddenly he felt like a disobedient child being scolded for not bringing in the dog or the like. Pushing his own food away, Charlie got up and picked up his overturned box in the hallway. Then he walked to his room, filled with more unpacked boxes, and placed the last one on his unmade bed, brushing aside a few thesis papers from his students. Then he left, crossed the hallway and knocked on Don's door, entering when he didn't hear him call out.

"Don?" He was lying on the bed, fully clothed, with his arm over his eyes. "Don, I'm going to start working at the office starting tomorrow."

"No, Charlie, you're not." Don repeated, "I told you that I don't want to talk about this."

Charlie slammed the door shut behind him. "But I do." he snapped, causing Don to jolt out of bed, "I…I just moved the last of my stuff over here." he said, more quietly.

"So?"

"So I…it's over, Don. That was the last of it…and now…it's done." Charlie said, trying to figure out why he was saying this to Don of all people, but then again, who else was there?

Don scrutinized him carefully before smiling suddenly. "It took you long enough, Buddy."

Then he got up and hugged his brother, and for the first time in a very long time, Charlie knew that everything was going to be all right.

**T**he **E**nd

**End Notes:** Well, that's it- the end of my first Numb3rs story. I hope everyone's enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I wanted to write a story that was different and hopefully I've accomplished that. In this story I wanted to illustrate the bonds of brothers and family in general. Sometimes they're not as strong as we think and sometimes they can pull us through crap we never thought possible. Charlie and Don grow throughout the story. And, of course, I have to talk about the ending and the villain- Alan. I hope no one thinks this is a big stretch, because I wrote this story with plausibility in mind. I considered a lot of aspects of psychology and I don't think it's too much of a stretch to believe that Alan could have lost his mind after the pain of losing his wife, not to mention the stress over Don's dangerous job and having to deal with a younger genius son. Anyway, thank you for reading and sticking with my story; it's been loads of fun!


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